


Here's To Family

by malcontent (Whispering_Sumire)



Series: AMNESTY, BC FUQ IT❀ [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesty, Angst, Blanket Permission, Derek Hale Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heartfelt Conversation, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Peter Hale Needs a Hug, Short One Shot, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Warning: Kate Argent, allusions to redemption, also everyone has permission to remix or translate or continue, bc i'm done with it, meaning this has been in my computer for a long-ass time and is probably shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 15:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whispering_Sumire/pseuds/malcontent
Summary: Talia smiles at him, because it's obvious, despite how young he is, that he's the one responsible for their survival. Their lungs are still clogged with smoke so she can't catch his scent, but she's sure he smells of magic."Do you know who I am, little Mage?""Jesus Christ. Yes. You're the one responsible for the giant ball of traumatized man-pain with abandonment issues who is going tokillme. And if he doesn't do it, God knows Peter will. And then he'll say something smarmy that's 18% sexy and 100% percent psychopathic serial killer, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Do you think Cora was being serious when she said it would be easy for her to rip out my intestines and strangle me with them? No. You know what? Never mind, don't answer that. I don't actually want to know," The boy comes to a halt in front of her, rambling tongue finally managing to still."Hello, hi—Talia, right? Talia Hale? Mother of the legendary Sourwolf! Hahaha! Ha. Heh, right, okay.""Yes," she agrees, feeling dazed, "I'm Talia. My son... traumatized?" She clears her throat uncomfortably, decides to try for steadier ground. "He wouldn't—no one in my Pack would kill you, child, you've just saved all our lives."





	Here's To Family

**Author's Note:**

> Heed. The. Tags. All the trigger warnings are in there, essentially, but Kate is rapey and Peter killed Laura and everyone needs hugs.
> 
> Also: Amnesty; this will likely never be continued by me, but if you wanna run away with it, feel free (please tag me, thoooo, I wanna gush at youuuu). If you read it, you are a precious unicorn, and I'm going to hug you, now ❀❀❀

There was fire, and it _burned_ as they howled; there was wolfsbane, and it _ached_ as they wept; there was mountain ash, and it _tore them apart_ , to realize that this was not something they would survive.

And then, between one smoke-terror breath and the next, they were suddenly standing in a chalk-blood array painted on a tired wooden floor surrounded by ancient brick walls in a sparse loft-apartment, high up, large windows all around, a boy in front of the lot of them staring with a gaping mouth and wide, whiskey-burn eyes.

"Holy Mother Mary may I, how did that _work?_ I didn't expect it to actually _work!"_ He hisses furiously, more to himself than to them. He starts pacing around them, poking various members of the slightly singed Pack before deciding that, yes, they were real.

Talia smiles at him, because it's obvious, despite how young he is, that he's the one responsible for their survival. Their lungs are still clogged with smoke so she can't catch his scent, but she's sure he smells of magic.

"Do you know who I am, little Mage?"

"Jesus Christ. Yes. You're the one responsible for the giant ball of traumatized man-pain with abandonment issues who is going to _kill_ me. And if he doesn't do it, God knows Peter will. And then he'll say something smarmy that's 18% sexy and 100% percent psychopathic serial killer, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Do you think Cora was being serious when she said it would be easy for her to rip out my intestines and strangle me with them? No. You know what? Never mind, don't answer that. I don't actually want to know," The boy comes to a halt in front of her, rambling tongue finally managing to still.

"Hello, hi—Talia, right? Talia Hale? Mother of the legendary Sourwolf! Hahaha! Ha. Heh, right, okay."

"Yes," she agrees, feeling dazed, "I'm Talia. My son... traumatized?" She clears her throat uncomfortably, decides to try for steadier ground. "He wouldn't—no one in my Pack would kill you, child, you've just saved all our lives."

"My twin is _not_ a psychopathic serial killer," Tara feels the need to point out behind her.

"Nope," the boy responds to Talia, first, shaking his head vigorously as if to shake off the very notion, "No. No, I did not do that, actually, because, see, you guys— _Jesus_ , there are ten of you, holy shit, no wonder they're so fucked up. Um. You guys have been _dead_ —officially and unofficially known to all as having burned to a crisp _seven years ago_. 

"And, lady, with the—wow, you look a lot like him, except for the, you know, tattoos——and the _hair_ , and, okay, the boobs. Considering Peter's killed at _least_ a dozen people since I've known him, and tried to _eat me. **Twice**_. I'd say he pretty much fits the psycho serial killer bill at this point. Walks like a duck," he rotates his hand in a listing, leading gesture, "quacks like a duck, rips people's throats out with his teeth... like a duck."

Tara is growling, hell, most of them are by the end of it, but they're all waiting, deferring, to their Alpha. Unfortunately, even for her, retaining composure in a situation such as this is next to impossible. She's already in Beta-shift, low growl in her throat, stalking towards him as she practically screams:

_"Seven **YEARS?!** "_

And the boy—he just guffaws.

"Oh my god, he certainly got it from you but he's _so much better_ at it than you are. You aren't even throwing me up against vertical surfaces!" And then, he comes _forward_ and starts patting her cheek and cooing at her over the now-intense growls she's making, "Because you're a good Alpha, aren't you? Yes, you are, you wouldn't _hurt_ the fragile little human, would you? No, you wouldn't."

And then he's laughing again and all she can think, just the slightest bit horrified, is that _no_ , she _wouldn't_ hurt him, because the only thing he's done so far is save them all and tell the truth, even if it was a truth that she didn't want to hear, that none of them did.

But her son... Her little brother, they shouldn't be wanting to hurt him either, should they? And how has someone been through so much they can _laugh_ in the face of an Alpha such as she?

Worried doesn't even begin to _cut_ what she's feeling right now.

And then, like the unceremonious cracking of a whip, like a sharp knife thrown abruptly into the moment, the heavy metal door opens—and there's her son, her baby, seven years older. He's grown into himself, she thinks, as she looks upon him, so handsome where he was awkward and gangly before. Oh, but he's shaking, trembling, and clutching the doorframe like it won't shatter underneath his white-knuckled grip.

"Mom?" And his eyes, so full of agony, like someone ripped him open and methodically took a hammer to every nerve ending, a knife to every vulnerable place, his voice, so wanting, desperate, it sounds exactly like heartbreak, like grief, like _guilt_. It chills her to the bone. Then he takes them all in, scents the air almost frantically with tears soaking his haunted hazel eyes. He takes a stilted step forward on legs like that of a newborn deer, he looks so weak, pale, trembling.

"How?" He asks the boy without turning away from them.

"A spell for information," the boy says softly, so softly, like he's afraid a too loud noise would break this man, for all that he said he would kill him. "They're real. Not shapeshifters, not Djinn, not a glamour. They're real, and they're yours."

A shaky breath, "Okay."

And then her son is in her arms, sobbing unreservedly, letting it wrack his now-big frame, just letting go, and there's so _much_ , so much agony there that it's all she can do to hold him together while keeping herself from falling apart with him. And the rest of her Pack, bless them, just come around to surround him, pulling him into all of their protective, gentling arms.

Talia does not miss the way the boy offers them all a small, sad, exhausted smile, before quietly leaving them to it.

* * *

Stiles stops just outside of the building, crazy clusterfuck of a family reunion inside, and looks at Peter. Peter who looks devastated and _terrified_ and broken, his head tipped back and his eyes closed.

"How will I face them?" The man asks, quiet, tentative, fear-stricken. Stiles wonders if the Pack-bonds slipped right back into place when they arrived in this time, or if Peter scented them on the air as he was heading to the loft, or if he heard them, is hearing them.

He doesn't feel happy about this, or smug, or like he wants to lord it over the man who's played chess with all of their lives, the man who probably would've killed Derek given the chance, just to become Alpha again.

Only he never did, did he? He killed Laura, true, the biggest stain, the bloodiest red on his ledger, but everyone else was a purposeful death, revenge, survival- and then he drove Lydia insane trying to _live_ again, but after that he just... stopped. He took up residence with his only living family member and he sat on that spiral fucking staircase, book in hand, and helped them research, snarked, killed for the good of the town, but inevitably stopped being innately _cruel_.

Seeing what having their old Pack is doing to them, seeing how _many_ they were once, how beautiful, how alive. He almost wants Kate back just so that he can flay her and make her watch as he barbeques the skin, make her watch as it melts away and bubbles into a charred nothing like all their lives did.

"Why did you kill her?" Stiles asks, because that's the thing, isn't it? The thing it always comes back to, the reason they can really, without hesitation, think him evil for the things he's done. It's true what he did to Scott and Lydia was unforgivable, too, but Stiles gets it, anyway. The strong desire for Pack, the even stronger desire to live.

"She was my Alpha and she abandoned me and I went mad. I was in pain for so long, Stiles, and I just wanted it to end, her power was the only thing that could make it _stop_. And maybe I wanted her, too, to suffer, for leaving, for all of it. I don't know. I don't know anymore, Stiles, I don't really think I ever did. But I killed her."

"You did," Stiles agrees.

"How do I face them?" Peter asks again.

"I don't know, Peter," Stiles tells him. His heart rate skyrockets before he does it, and he doesn't know if it's out of fear or anticipation or nervousness or all of the above, he just knows he _hates_ this. So he reaches out, and he pulls the other man in and he just. He just holds him.

And Peter, his head tipping forward until it's resting atop Stiles' shoulder, his arms coming to wrap gently around the teenager, he just lets him.

* * *

They're all still hugging and consoling Derek when Peter comes in, that supple, thin, cinnamon-stippled milk-skinned boy on his heels looking equal parts apprehensive and concerned where Peter just looks... _tired_.

Old and bone-weary and resigned.

Where there was always light in his eyes, a sharp dangerous thing to match his twin's, where he once looked for all the world a male carbon copy of her, he now looks empty and broken and half fucking dead.

"Well, dearest nephew," and his voice is so _cold_ it makes her heart feel frozen, the tone matches his eyes, no longer the pull of saltwater sea-tide, but instead the bite of a winter that would sooner kill you than offer any childhood delicacies like snowmen and snowangels, the kind of slick ice on pavement that causes car crashes, destruction, "I think it is high time we confess our sins, don't you?"

And for a moment she doesn't understand, even as Derek pulls out of her arms and away from the Pack. His eyes flash red when they light on Peter, and some sort of horrible, painful understanding crosses between them before they end up side by side, right in front of the Pack.

Talia knows she is not the only one who whimpers with heartbreak when they both go down, knees connecting to the floor with a solid thud, their heads tilted far to the side, baring their throats. Submission and acceptance for whatever fate waits for them, the position a Beta takes when it expects the death sentence, when it has irrevocably betrayed its' Pack.

"No, don't. Stop—" she's trying, really trying, but she can't make sense of this, and she isn't prepared, either, for the riptide of scents that choke her when the cloying smoke in her throat finally dissipates.

So much pain, _too_ much, and a neverending cacophony of guilt.

She can hear distressed whines from Caterina, Tara, and Merry; Mikey looks devastated, and the rest look both bereft and expectant.

"Kate Argent," Derek begins, and they're all shocked into silence. "I thought I was in love with her, I thought she was in love with _me_. And I told her everything. I didn't know she was a Hunter and I told her _everything_ and she used it to..."

Peter takes up the mantle after Derek trails off, and what he says is short and succinct and so, so incredibly awful:

"I killed Laura."

Talia barely manages to gasp down a sob. And what is she meant to do with this? These broken people who are so obviously expecting death at her hands? Her baby who was sixteen and already dealing with the trauma of Paige but still so hopeful is now hounded and haunted by demons she barely even wants to contemplate, and isn't that her fault? For not noticing?

And then there's Peter. What happened to him, what possessed him to do something so horrendous as that? Laura had been his favorite of all her children, the one he sparred and played with, they always had bets going against everyone else in the house, sometimes Laura would even bemoan her ability for the full-shift, wanting to be a Left Hand instead of an Alpha, and Peter would always chide her, serious eyes and charming smile, saying she was far, far too _good_ to be put in that position, and that she should be proud of her leadership skills, anyway.

He had loved her _most_ , second only to Tara.

Talia spares a moment to glance at her father, but his eyes are hard. This is a choice she's going to have to make on her own. She feels so numb, she can barely breathe through the tears and the terror of it.

And then there's that kid, chocolate haired, whiskey-burn glare and a determined frown. He comes up behind the two and, taking a breath, steels himself, then slaps the both of them upside the head. The sound of it echoes in the shocked-still silence that follows it, both Peter's and Derek's chins forced toward their chest, causing the arch of their necks to slope downwards as if in shame instead of the bared-throat-submission they were in before.

"You're _both_ idiots!" The boy yells at them, shaking with rage or desperation or sadness or all three, but he isn't crying. That seems to break something of a spell as both of the kneeling 'weres end up turning their heads sharply toward him.

"Derek, Kate was a sociopathic bitch who preyed on you when your grief over Paige had left you vulnerable, not to mention how much _older_ than you she was! What happened to you wasn't your fault, you were raped and tortured by that woman and you've served seven years of hell for it; dying now, when you've only just got them back would be the total antithesis of intelligent things to do, and I know you're not the _brightest_ , but, dude! Come _on!"_

Stiles looks like he wants to shake sense into him, and Derek? He actually looks a little cowed.

"And you!" Stiles rounds on Peter, then he sighs, some of the fight seeming to drain out of him, and in a softer, kinder voice, but no less fierce, he says, "You were _feral_ , you'd been left for dead by your Alpha. You were _scared_ and _alone_ and you wanted the pain to _stop_. You served the same sentence Derek did, and, considering the fact that you actually _did_ die last year, albeit temporarily... I think that's enough now.

"It's enough, _more_ than enough, now."

Talia is... reeling, still; she thinks she needs several long nights inside of a bottle with kleenex and pictures of her daughter around her, but considering the way things seem here, now, she's inclined to agree.

Peter's expression is still shuttered but his eyes are a little brighter, and when Stiles sinks to his knees in between the two of them, Peter catches him by the waist, and eases his way. The boy runs fingers through both sandy brown and thick black hair, heaving a great big sigh.

"Say you're sorry," He tells them, and his voice is sweet, kind, sympathetic, knowing.

Talia is still shocked when her son does as the young _human_ ordered and murmurs a quiet, wobbly little apology. Peter seems less willing, but Stiles levels him with a stare that seems to say, _'Now is not the time for posturing, now is the time for **truth**.'_

Peter offers him an almost imperceptible smile and nod before turning to the Pack he'd taken from and, so sincere it's practically another heartbreak on its own, says:

"I am sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It may never be... But I am."

Her heart thudding almost painfully in her chest, her mouth terribly dry, Talia walks over to them, incapable of words, and hauls the two 'weres up, the mage following them into standing. She cannot forgive, not quite yet, but they are still her family, and for all that their betrayal is... it's still understandable, in ways that make her body feel impaled with a thousand tiny shards of glass. Yet her wolf must still trust them, because it _burns_ in her chest, the need to reassure them that they are still Pack.

So, gently, she moves them to bare their throats again, they offer submission easily, and she presses her teeth- not biting, just. Just making it known she's there, that she could- into the soft skin at their throats, re-cementing their Pack-bonds, accepting their submission, offering her dominance.

As whatever shard of the Alpha-spark that was in Derek returns to her, leaving him entirely, he slumps, breathes a sigh that is soaked in so much relief it almost makes her smile. When she pulls away, she flashes eyes of vermillion at them, and their eyes flash a glowing, bright, penetrating blue, back.

The mage, behind her Betas with a sad but hopeful look swirling in his honeyed eyes, just smiles.


End file.
